My sister was scarcely likely to make a mistake. Once in England, she made all haste to visit Remenham House. ‘How disappointing,’ mourned Gerald. I believe I am getting impudent. "It's better," observed Sheppard, meaningly. At the same time,” she added, in a suddenly altered tone, “it isn’t anything whatever to do with you, is it?” “Why not?” he answered. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped.
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